


oh, how i want you (but not like this)

by beemotionpicture, Loris43



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Acute Intermittent Porphyria, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst, Cameos by other Haikyuu!! Characters, Cancer, Fluff, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beemotionpicture/pseuds/beemotionpicture, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loris43/pseuds/Loris43
Summary: Keiji’s sick and he’s never getting better. Koutarou comes into his life and makes it a little brighter… If only he weren’t in constant pain. It’s not about fixing each other, not really, but somehow the broken pieces come together anyway.—AKA the bokuaka hospital AU nobody asked for.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	oh, how i want you (but not like this)

**Author's Note:**

> **Loris:** aye! So Bee and I decided to write this monster (and I definitely wouldn't have done it without you, Bee). It's been so much fun and now it's time to share so buckle up! I hope these boys will bring a smile to your lips as often as they did to me!:D
> 
>  **Bee:** This is my first HQ!! fic, and I’m so glad to finally contribute to the fandom! I wrote this with my friend Loris (who I love so much guys you have no idea how amazing she is T_T). I hope you like this fic as much as we enjoyed writing it!

Keiji liked to think he had life figured out.

There wasn’t much to figure anyway. Everything was decided by fate: him, constricted by four bland walls and a small window, with a taunting glimpse of what lay outside the building… a prison of sorts. Well, he’d been outside before, just enough to learn about that other world, enough to let that feeling bloom in his chest. It was rooted deep in him now, with no hope left for Keiji that it would eventually wilt; there were crooked branches twisting in his lungs, thorns digging in his chest, his heart, leaving him painfully breathless. It was something he’d learned to live with.

That, along with the dull ache in his bones, the painful fullness below the ribs, the shortness of breath. His ghostly pale skin, tainted with the dark red spots spattered all over his body. Symptoms of leukemia, they’d called them. Keiji had no choice but to live with them. 

And aside from them, there were only books to keep him company. Exciting stories or boring ones, he’d read them _all_ —no matter how definite his resolution not to follow through with a particularly dull first chapter, it always crumbled eventually underneath the weight of every dragging hour. A prison with books and no way out, not really. Even when he was allowed to go outside, it seemed he somehow always ended up in the same room.

Maybe it was fate. _No way out._

Well, there was one.

There was a door, one that led down a long hallway. It had just about as much personality as the rest of the hospital, floor slate grey and walls the same awful cream. It was mostly deserted at night, flickering fluorescent lights above his head, casting long shadows on his face as he walked.

No long, prideful strides like he took whenever his parents visited, when they went out for walks on the hospital grounds. Him, all stubborn and quiet, letting the silence between them stretch endlessly… like the time between their visits that seemed to grow longer and longer with each one.

Instead he took small, careful steps, exhaustion having seeped into his limbs, and in that hallway, all alone, he allowed it to show.

The city lights in the distance were familiar in pattern and color. Those windows didn’t open. If they would’ve, he’d probably hear the same distant sirens, the same low hum of the flow of people that he sometimes heard late at night in his room when he opened the small window. A city bursting at the seams, teeming with life.

So far away.

He liked to pretend he was part of it, whenever he took his nightly walks, and his heart sometimes clenched painfully with a longing of sorts.

There were times when he didn’t feel any of that, anger simmering low in his gut instead. Some nights that same anger boiled over, scalding him on the inside, making his fists clench and his jaw set. Making him want unreasonable things… to punch a wall, perhaps? To watch the glass in front of him shatter into a tiny million pieces because _he_ wasn’t going to.

Those were impulses he never acted on, only ever manifesting as stinging in his eyes, tears of frustration threatening to spill. There in the hallways, all alone, he didn’t bite them back: he let them blur the sight of the city, let them roll down his cheeks—bitter tears. Fate was, of course, unfazed.

He could get pretty far walking down here, barefoot on the cold grey tiles, intravenous pole rolling behind him. It wasn’t like the emergency department, where people always seemed to be darting down the hallways. Hurried steps, the sound of wheelchairs, hushed words, muffled crying and the not-so-muffled wailing. Fate hadn’t been kind to them either. It was sterile like any other part of the building, smelling of disinfectant, but Keiji swore it was laced with the smell of death. It lingered over there, especially cloying.

He hated that place. He preferred his hallway.

A nurse always found him eventually, before he could see the glass doors leading out of the building. Keiji wasn’t sure what he would do if he reached them one day.

And as always, he was led back quietly without protest, the nurse coaxing him back into bed. They were kind enough not to comment on his nightly hallway escapades and even kinder to ignore the tears streaking his cheeks. And just like every other night, he would slip into bed, feet cold, toes curling underneath the white cloth, and his sleep would be restless, light like the sheets he gripped so tightly for comfort.

Only to wake up with the golden sun’s rays filtering through the glass, into the empty room, painting the white sheets of the other two empty beds with flecks of amber, greeted by the dull ache in his bones and even worse one in his heart. It was an odd setting to wake up in, no matter how long he had been doing it now, a strange mix of white cream and gold. It always left him questioning whether he was still dreaming, mind hazy with sleep.

He tried not to compare the room to his childhood one, despite his mind only outlining the familiar shapes of it in his sleep. A distant memory, almost forgotten, faded like his life before he had gotten sick.

Except today was not one of those days. It wasn’t just the one nurse checking on him, their solitary presence only reminding Keiji how empty his room was. There were more of them, swarming the bed next to him, obstructing his view. But Keiji didn’t need to crane his neck to see more—the shock of silver hair peeking from behind one of the nurses was enough. 

One bed was no longer empty.

He swallowed, unsure if it was anticipation buzzing in his fingertips or something more like anxiety. But Keiji breathed quietly when they left the room one by one, watching the stranger—a boy around his age—as he gripped the sheets tightly.

🏥

The ball wasn’t by any means slow, but he didn’t have any problem following it, movements long etched into his muscle memory. 

One, two.

Two steps were all he needed. Koutarou never made any extraneous movements— _that’s what they’re called right, coach?_ —not in this, in the sport he loved so much. It felt nice, these patterns, because this was his safe space where he could _think_ ; he calculated each players’ movements because even though he was never really the brightest, Koutarou’s mind never moved as fast as when he played volleyball.

Body, tensed.

Then he was pushing off the ground in one fluid motion, with all his force, muscles burning— _screaming_ with the most satisfying ache—and as he arched back in the air like a spring, everything went silent. 

He focused on the ball. He didn't need to think about it; it came to him as naturally as breathing. The ball was right where he wanted it, an excellent set. 

Channeling all his force into the spike, his hand met the ball with a loud _smack!_ Each time, Koutarou was reminded of how much he loved the sound of a ball slamming down onto the other side of the net. It was the perfect hit, and it made him beam, lips stretching into a wide grin. He didn’t have the time to revel in the feeling of being so high up, already seeing the other side; his momentum pulled him back down with surprising force, sending him stumbling close to the net. They wouldn’t be able to receive that, he knew even before hearing the loud sound filling the room. A glorious sound really, more deafening than everyone’s panting, than the squeaking of shoes on the linoleum flooring— 

"Hey hey hey!!"

It only took him a moment to regain his footing before he was grinning, pumping his fists in the air and cheering. Maybe a bit too loudly, judging by the exasperated eye roll Kuroo shot him from the other side of the net, but the other’s lips curved into a smile, so Koutarou guessed it was fine. It was the match point for his team, after all. The match point! His muscles burned, cool sweat dripped down his back, and the sweet taste of victory lingered in his mouth. And after all, Kuroo was a pretty sore loser. Koutarou smiled brightly, a smile that didn’t falter, not even when he had to stay to take down the net with Kuroo.

… who grumbled the whole time; this in itself was predictable, although Kuroo was anything but. "That last spike was good," he said earnestly, his usually sharp eyes softening in a way that seemed to happen a lot, around Koutarou.

Praise always made him pleased. His skin was already flushed warm from the exertion, but it was a different sort of warmth that he felt when Kuroo told him he'd done well. He swayed his head from side to side as they packed up, feeling a little bubbly, and hummed a little made-up song quite loudly and most _definitely_ offkey.

But then he faltered for the briefest moment, and the next thing he knew Kuroo's steady, strong hand was wrapped around his wrist. 

"Hey. You alright there?"

This time, those eyes were urgent and filled with worry, and Koutarou tried so hard not to deflate. There he was again, making people act weird around him. It made his heart speed up in his chest, and not in a good way.

Kuroo rubbed at his pulse point in comfort, and Koutarou could feel him trying to meet his eyes. But Koutarou couldn't look at him, couldn’t meet the hazel catlike eyes he _knew_ held something like worry—nuh-uh, it was more like he didn't _want_ to, because his throat was closing up, and it was everything he could to not to snatch his hand away.

That was too much excitement for one day, he thought, so he dropped the net—Kuroo made a little _eh?!_ —and wrapped his sweaty arms around him— _EHH? OY—_ before slobbering over him with kisses. It was a good distraction.

Class, in comparison, was _boring_. He wasn’t going to lie: if Kuroo asked him about any of it, he’d just admit he had fallen asleep for most of them. His eyes kept closing, and the fatigue stayed with him until it was time to go home for the weekend. He was just—

So.

 _Tired_ …

…

—it wasn’t that he didn’t know it was stupid. Koutarou did a lot of dumb things, after all; skipping enough meals to trigger an episode was just one of them. Problem was: he knew in theory that what he’d done was stupid but in practice… 

Well, he might not have realized he hadn't eaten since Thursday night, and it was currently… eight o’clock on Saturday morning.

So. Stupid of him? Yes. 

Unexpected, though…?

No. Not at all, it was only a matter of time.

It spoke to how much of a regular occurrence this was that his parents were more exasperated than worried, even. His dad had driven him to the hospital because it was that time of year, the month where everyone filed their taxes, and _no, he didn’t mind one bit_ , and _oh, when I get home I should tell Mama not to work too hard_ —

His father gave a soft chuckle, and Koutarou figured he’d been babbling again. His family never begrudged him for it; it took his mind off of the stabbing pain in his abdomen far better than focusing on the passing scenery out the window, only faintly registering it while he talked.

There were all these tall, _tall_ buildings, perfectly symmetrical with equally perfect straight lines. They were so _neat_ , such sharp contrast to all the smudges of color, of people walking down the sidewalk, some trudging, and a few rushing. It was chaotic, with no pattern… Really, quite like Koutarou on a regular day. The masses of people seemed to be constantly twisting and turning, continually moving. Even if there was a pattern—it was probably something about golden ratios and Fibonacci figures, and those must seem like intelligible scribbles to anyone, because they certainly did to _him_ , and although that wasn’t saying much. People did stick to their simple grids and right angles and dull buildings, trying to fit jumbled thoughts and jumbled lives into a neat pattern. The pain in his belly commanded his attention, sharp and cold and too warm at the same time. Why right angles anyway? Would triangle buildings look good? 

Koutarou turned in his seat to ask for his dad’s opinion. He regarded the questions with another smile, letting Koutarou talk about triangular buildings and university and Kuroo, and _oh, what about Mama and you moving into a triangular apartment… No? Round then?_ The talking was just him spilling more of himself, more of his patterns and lack of right angles, the pain only distracting him further. It jumbled everything in his head, and he wondered if he’d be a little smarter without this thing in him. The car came to a halt at a traffic light, and his dad reached over to the passenger seat to brush the sweat from his face.

“That bad, Koutarou?” he murmured as the cars started moving again. His dad looked worried, which was weird at first, but that was when Koutarou realized he’d actually been crying. 

The sensation of warm tears on his cheeks was lost, inconsequential to the pain he was feeling.

He cleared his throat and smiled, tired and weary and rueful all the same. He wiped away the dampness from his cheeks before he let himself go. It was never good to worry people over something he could bear.

Arriving at the hospital brightened his spirits. Strange, perhaps, but the nurses welcomed him with smiles and soft words. The sterile white walls and the smell of antiseptic…they had never made him uncomfortable, not really. It was like going on vacation, he told himself. This was his vacation home, where he could take a few days from university and where he was surrounded by people he didn’t have to explain his circumstances to. He was happy here.

He was smiling when they admitted him, and Koutarou might have even managed to convince the staff that he was perfectly okay if his knees hadn’t buckled, and he didn’t let out a pained sob.

There was a flurry of movement as he was rushed to a room, and it seemed like forever until they finally left him alone—wait.

“Oh—hey!” he exclaimed, forcing himself to sit up. He could barely feel the pain anymore, but it was more due to excitement at the new face than the meds they’d given him through the IV drip. “—hey hey hey! Who are you?” He tilted his head, eyes bright and curious.

🏥

Keiji met his gaze, unable to hide the surprised flinch at his voice. 

_Loud_.

In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming, the obnoxious hair warning enough. Still, he couldn’t help the resigned sigh that escaped his lips at the overly excited greeting, something like disappointment seeping inside of him, shoulders dropping with it. The specks of hope that had been dancing around in his chest settled like dust. What had he been hoping for? Someone who would understand him? Someone who had just as few chances of getting out of there like him? Someone he could take his nightly walks with? Even he didn’t know.

A feeling bubbled up inside him as he thought of hushed whispers at night, of reassuring words. Understanding. 

It was selfish, but Keiji told himself he was allowed to be like that. After all that had been stripped from him, he was allowed to be selfish. Judging by the cheerful tone, the sparkling eyes, his new roommate was anything but the person he’d been hoping for. He was someone who would probably be there for a couple of days at most, recovering in the blink of an eye—then he’d be on his merry way, resuming his life outside like nothing ever happened. 

Keiji was tempted just to turn around so he was facing the other wall, back facing the newcomer, ready to ignore him for the rest of his stay, but something held him back. Gunmetal eyes fixed on big, bright amber ones flecked with gold. Too big, too honest. Keiji knew he’d be able to read the other like an open book, see every emotion in his eyes as if he wasn’t afraid to show it. He couldn’t find himself to look away, not even when they turned expectant, waiting for a response. Keiji hesitated. But for some reason, his resolve not to talk to the other crumbled. 

“Akaashi,” he said, pointed and quiet. Maybe the other would catch on that this was Keiji's preferred volume. He didn't ask for a name in return—judging by the looks of the other, he'd be getting one anyway.

Keiji hadn’t waited very long to respond at all, but already the boy looked antsy. He didn’t look away, gaze unflinching.

“ _Akaashi_ ,” the boy breathed, hopeful and pleased.

He felt his heart flutter at the sound of his name on the other’s lips and the smile accompanying it. It was odd, seeing someone wear his emotions so plainly on his expression, seeing the relief upon hearing Akaashi’s name, seeing his shoulders relax. Akaashi decided he didn’t like it. It was naive, childlike. He watched the other scramble in his bed, not missing the change in his expression. Pain. It was an expression he had often seen here, easy to recognize, depressingly so. He didn’t address it, just like he didn’t attempt to talk to the other. But Akaashi acknowledged it. Another piece of information tucked in his mind for later use. Like what the different nurses liked to talk about, how he could make them leave the fastest, which doctor was the most observant. 

Keiji didn’t smile, but the boy didn’t seem deterred in the least.

“Oh…!” he blurted, struggling upright, trying to take a look at Keiji’s bed and sticking his tongue out in exertion.

He watched, out of boredom rather than interest, because his new roommate wasn’t interesting. Just like the nurses. The cheerful and positive type, stupidly naive, the kind that liked to say ‘everything is going to be alright’. But Keiji was taken by surprise by the other’s next words, every part of him pausing, processing, taken aback by the other’s observation. The boy’s eyes roamed the setup, and Keiji wondered what he was focusing on: drip, check; heart rate monitor on his index finger, check; central venous line, check; bundles upon bundles of thermal blankets, check—

Ah, Keiji noted, it was the CVL. He probably didn’t know what it was.

The boy’s smile faltered once more then, and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. “You’re here for a while, huh…”

A central venous line was one for long term patients. Keiji knew that, of _course_ he did—he knew it more intimately than anyone should. But it surprised him that the boy recognized it… Not completely ignorant, then. 

“I…” the crease between this brows seemed to soften ever so slightly, gaze no longer hardened, flitting over the bland walls, seemingly trying to find a point to focus on, before eventually returning to his roommate 

“Yeah,” he responded, guarded, already anticipating the _I’m so sorry_ or the less graceful _that suck_ s. It didn’t come. “… You’re not,” he added after a pause, trying to keep the bite out of his voice because he couldn’t blame anyone for not being stuck in a hospital like him. 

The boy’s lips twisted, seemingly of their own accord. It didn’t look like pity to Keiji—instead it was more like regret.

“Nah. Just here for a few days. I fainted because I forgot to eat,” he offered. As though saying something like that would make Keiji think any better of him. To his credit, the boy looked as though he felt silly immediately. As he should.

Keiji watched him with a deadpan look, not even trying to hide the eye roll that his response prompted. Of _course_ he forgot to eat. Keiji couldn’t hide the twitch of the corner of his mouth, the slightest hint of an amused smile, in contrast to the unimpressed look he gave him. He’d only be there for a few days… Just a few days. Keiji could deal with someone so noisy, if only for that long. They were nothing alike and they would clash, sooner or later—Keiji was cool and composed unlike the boy and his scatterbrained self; and his roommate was strong and hearty, unlike Keiji who was distant and fragile, especially with the white hospital sheets bundled around him.

As soon as he thought it, the boy shrugged himself out from underneath his own blankets, looking suffocated. He even wiggled his toes when they were free. He fiddled with the buttons on the side rails, taking a few tries before he was comfortable enough with the angle of the bed. He stretched and looked way more comfortable in this setting than he should, scratching around the plastic catheter on the back of his hand. “It’s kind of nice here, though, isn’t it? Everyone’s so friendly.”

“Yeah, they’re nice. And _quiet_ ,'' Keiji added pointedly, fixing him with a look and hoping he’d catch on.

He didn’t. Instead, the boy just bounced in his seat. “So, you do like it here?”

“… It’s boring,'' Keiji finally murmured before he could stop himself, feeling irritation itch in his chest at his slip-up. He should’ve just agreed and ended the conversation. Keiji certainly wasn’t a person who liked complaining to strangers. A small sigh escaped his lips.

“Boring?” he parrotted, a bit blankly. 

Keiji watched the other trail off as he spoke, big owlish eyes suddenly changing. The boy glanced away for the first time since arriving to look at the far wall; his eyes had a strange, glassy sheen to them, and he stayed staring at nothing for a few seconds. Keiji felt his brows crease, eyes wandering to follow the other’s gaze, searching for what it was fixed on.

Keiji wasn’t worried. He wasn’t, he told himself—he was just wary because something seemed off.

But he only blinked the dullness from his eyes and smiled, twice as wide. “Well, it won’t be, now that I’m here.” 

Keiji wasn’t worried.

 _Well… He’s not wrong_ , Keiji thought, having had the time to consider calling a nurse and deciding against it. The boy was looking at him again, a bright smile gracing his lips and a sparkle in his eyes. Keiji would never admit to it, but he felt the smallest tinge of relief. Still, he didn’t reply, expression stoic and lips not even twitching; the gleam in his eyes, however, betrayed Keiji’s amusement at his remark. _Nothing about him is boring._

“Why do you think so, though? Don’t you have anyone to keep you company? You don’t play any games or watch movies or—go out?” He seemed to kick himself for the slip as soon as he realized. “Um. Into the courtyard, I mean.”

The line of his lips thinned just slightly at the question, but he didn’t look away, carefully examining Bokuto’s expression, seeming to catalogue everything, almost curious. 

“My parents… don’t really visit,” he answered quietly, gaze darkening for a moment. Their relationship wasn’t the best since Keiji had decided to tell them about his romantic preference, and his mother hadn’t been too happy about his life choices. Not that it mattered. He was probably going to be stuck here for a long time, if not for the rest of his life. Romance wasn't exactly the thing on his mind right then.

He swallowed thickly. He didn’t have any friends either, Keiji realized, but didn’t voice the thought. The boy wouldn’t be able understand, would he? He probably had plenty of friends. His smile was undoubtedly one that made a room seem brighter, one that attracted lots of people. Charismatic. His eyes went to normal.

“And the courtyard isn’t really my scene,” Keiji paused. “It’s where the 80-year-old jocks meet to talk about their youth,” he joked, deadpan, unable to hide the amused quirk of his lips at the memory of the odd, almost obnoxious crowd. He didn’t mind them, but the stories about the past did get old. They would never get out of the hospital either, but they probably didn’t care, they had lived a long life. 

“Oh!” the boy… well, hooted. It was a terrible noise that Keiji could see annoying people to no end, but he had to admit he found it kind of cute. “I should introduce myself to those 80-year-old jocks then,” he followed with a bright laugh. “We can talk about our youth together! Will you come with me, Akaashi?”

“I can’t go out,” he said defensively, force of habit. But at the look in the boy’s eyes, the harsh lines of his face softened. He looked away, nonchalant, and said, “…but maybe… Just once. I’ll read.” He chanced a glance back up at his roommate’s face.

_Oh no._

The boy was practically _vibrating_ in his seat—with excitement? How could anyone be that excited over a half-hearted promise like that? It didn’t matter, because then he was talking, talking, _talking—_

To his credit, Keiji could keep up with the boy, giving one-word answers in response to his roommate’s nonsensical ramblings. This was going to get old quickly, but it was predictable enough… or so Keiji thought.

“—hey, hey, Akaashi, does the sentence ‘I’m enamored by you’ make sense? Is it enamored _of_? Is enamored even the right word? You read books so you probably know… Anyway, I like you a lot, is what I mean,” his roommate said in one breath, not looking winded at all.

If the boy was purposefully trying to startle him, he was doing a great job, Keiji had to give him that. He knew the other boy didn’t mean it like that, but he couldn’t help—much to his horror, because Keiji wasn’t a blusher—the warmth bloom in his cheeks and travel down his neck. He prayed it wasn’t visible, a feeble hope really, and cleared his throat purposefully.

“That’s not the word you’re looking for,” he said calmly, looking off to the side in an attempt to hide the flush on his cheeks. "Please refrain from using it," he added, hoping it was enough to make the other realize the meaning of it

“I won’t use it if you don’t want me to,” his roommate said, nodding emphatically and sitting up straighter. He’d probably be holding one hand over his heart if he’d thought of it. But he tilted his head immediately after, a childlike curiosity on his face, with more than a little puzzlement. “But then what word should I use to say that I like you?”

_“Like” me?! In what way!_

“What I mean to say is that you’re nice to look at!”

Keiji almost choked on his spit.

“Umm. Or maybe just that you’re an interesting guy, and I hope we can be friends?” That was said much more sheepishly, as though he finally realized he was a little—more than a little—ridiculous.

That was much better, and finally Keiji’s heart stopped beating so loudly in his chest.

“I don’t really do friends,” he answered quietly, tone hesitant as he watched the other. He’d never had anyone he had considered a friend. Hospitals weren’t good places to make friends. They either died or left or made him eat the bland tasting lunch. Or they delivered pain meds, Keiji thought bitterly. Not ideal. The newcomer seemed to be of the second sort, someone who’d leave soon, go on with the life he had outside, not held back by this ball and chain, some ugly disease that lurked inside him.

Keiji‘s chest felt tight. He wondered what it’d be like to be the boy‘s friend, how many friends his roommate must’ve had outside.

"Nonsense!" His roommate said as though he was sure of what he was talking about. "Let's go to the courtyard."

Keiji’s heart constricted. _Nonsense_ , like it was so easy for him to say, like it was apparent Keiji would have someone. _Anyone_. A friend. It made something like irritation bubble up in his lungs, only making breathing increasingly difficult.

Of course he’d think that. It was obvious for him, wasn’t it? He seemed like the type who was surrounded by people, a person who was easy to talk to, energetic, fun. There would be people swarming this room soon, friends visiting him, and Keiji would have to watch. 

The boy didn’t fit in here, of course he didn’t. Those wings weren’t for nothing, he belonged outside, where he could fly. Keiji’s eyes flitted over the ridiculous hair, his arched eyebrows and big honey eyes, looking at him, so resolute and honest. 

"We’re friends now, okay? Akaashi—oh, shoot!" The boy’s exclamation snapped him out of his thoughts. His roommate had tried to stand and immediately tugged his IV line in such a way that made red backflow into the catheter. He didn’t seem able to stand the sight of blood—the little sensor on his forefinger betrayed him in that moment and he looked helplessly from it, to Keiji, to the monitor, and back to Keiji, as though he could offer his assistance or something.

There was some rustling from the outside, and the boy gave a moue of distress and agitation, before the door was being opened and a nurse came in. (Keiji decided he _wasn’t_ feeling even a little bit sympathetic) As soon as the nurse saw Koutarou and his hand, they gave a disapproving tut, shaking their head. “Bokuto-kun! Again, really? This is the fourth time—”

“But only the first today,” The boy—Bokuto—insisted. He was turned away from Keiji and bouncing restlessly on his bed, steadfastly _not_ looking at the plastic in the back of his hand. The nurse flushed out the catheter, making even Keiji shiver at the phantom feeling of the cold solution seeping under his skin.

Bokuto shuddered, releasing Keiji from his trance. He watched the other, listened to the quick beeping of the monitor, and offered the other only a deadpan stare as their eyes met—unable to hide the amused quirk of his lips at the display of the nurse scolding the other boy.

It wasn’t quite like before, definitely not as quiet. It was new, not like any other roommate he had had before, but it was something he could get used to. He tried not to think about how it would hurt when he would be discharged, leaving Keiji with silence and an empty bed. He wouldn't get too attached.

 _Fourth time, huh? So he must forget to eat a lot_. 

Keiji smiled to himself. A friend. However insignificant that may have been compared to the number of friends the other had, it was something, right? A friend, who he knew nothing about except a name, someone who would soon be discharged. But still a friend. Bokuto. The warmth in his chest felt nice. 

Even if he would eventually leave, maybe—and Keiji really shouldn't get his hopes up, he wasn't like the other boy, or the too cheerful nurses, he knew how cruel fate could be—but maybe the other would even come back.

**Author's Note:**

> Look forward to weekly updates? Maybe?


End file.
